


hell is full of faithless hearts

by zozo



Series: Here Comes the First Day [8]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Fictional Botany, Friendship/Love, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zozo/pseuds/zozo
Summary: Catra wants to dig up Shadow Weaver’s creepy garden. Glimmer doesn’t want her to do it alone.
Relationships: Adora & Bow & Catra & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora/Catra/Glimmer (She-Ra), Bow & Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Micah (She-Ra), Catra/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Series: Here Comes the First Day [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755943
Comments: 95
Kudos: 455
Collections: the corners of today





	1. Chapter 1

Between Glimmer’s many royal responsibilities, Adora—and She-Ra’s—role in the reconstruction of Etheria’s infrastructure, and Entrapta’s frequent need for Bow’s assistance getting Darla ready for their big road trip, the new and improved Best Friends Squad haven’t been getting as much quality squad time as they need.

So they’ve established a new rule: breakfast is theirs. Lunch might be a quick sandwich in between other appointments, and dinner often gets worked through, if not given over to some kind of diplomatic occasion, but no matter the agenda—or the sleeping arrangements from the night before—the Best Friends Squad block out an hour of time every morning just for them, to eat together and touch base and fortify each other’s moods for the day ahead. So far the arrangement has made their busy and too-frequently separate schedules a lot easier to handle.

This morning, Bow is telling a story about his and Glimmer’s childhood attempt to build a treehouse in the palace gardens. “So we snuck a bunch of tools out of the groundskeeper’s shed, right? We couldn’t find planks of wood to build with or anything, but we had a handsaw, so we thought—”

Glimmer picks up the thread of the story, struggling to contain her laughter. “We thought we could just cut down a tree or two and use the wood from that! No big deal, right? Just the kind of carpentry two 9-year-olds do all the time.”

Catra laughs with the rest of them, shaking her head fondly at the thought of tiny little Glimmer and tiny little Bow marching through the trees, arms piled high with their “borrowed” bounty of dangerously sharp and rusty tools. But the thought of a shed full of garden implements sticks in her mind, even as she wolfs down her daily mountain of bacon, and as they’re getting ready to part ways for the morning, Catra takes Glimmer aside.

“Hey, you,” Catra says with a squeeze of Glimmer’s arm. Glimmer flashes the sweet smile that always scrambles Catra’s brains for a few seconds, but Catra shakes it off and persists. “You and Bow were telling that story about the gardens, and, uh. You know Sh-Shadow Weaver had that weird little… patch out there? With her fucked-up magic plants and everything?”

Glimmer makes a face. “Ugh. Yeah. We need to do something about that. The groundskeepers have had so much to catch up on since we all came back to Bright Moon, and I think… I think they’re a little afraid of that part, so they’ve been prioritizing other sections, and they’ve been talking about getting someone from Mystacor to come and check it out first. But I want to get rid of it too—I’ll see if they can move it up their list.”

Catra shakes her head. “I was actually wondering… if I could do it. Not like, planting new stuff afterwards—you should probably let the professional landscapers handle that part—but like, digging it up and, and ripping it all out.”

“Oh,” Glimmer says simply, and Catra can tell she’s treading lightly to avoid flooding Catra with too many emotions. The care and consideration on display almost folds Catra’s heart in half. “If that’s something you want to do, I don’t see why not,” Glimmer continues, “except—well—some of those plants are dangerous.”

Catra shrugs, but Glimmer shakes her head firmly, refusing to accept Catra’s dismissive attitude towards her own safety. "They _are_. Some are poisonous, some are magical, some are _dark_ magic… _why_ did we ever let her… ugh, anyway. Some just have huge sharp thorns!

“You can dig it all up if you want to, but you _have_ to be careful. Talk to the groundskeeper first, get the right tools and the right protective gear and she’ll show you how to use them. And she’ll help you dispose of everything safely once you’re done—some of those plants you can’t just burn.”

Catra nods slowly. She _had_ been planning to go in with just a machete and a shovel and start hacking away, but now that she thinks about what Shadow Weaver might have been cultivating in there… Glimmer’s conditions seem prudent.

“Fine,” Catra concedes. “I’ll do it right. I’ll be safe.”

“You’d better.” Glimmer gives her that look again, the one that pierces straight through Catra’s sternum, and it’s both a relief and a disappointment when it’s replaced by a new thought crossing Glimmer’s face.

“Actually,” the queen says, “I know the perfect person to help you.”

“Help? Hold on,” Catra protests. “I’ll be careful and everything, but I don’t need—”

Glimmer grabs her hand and squeezes it tight. “Catra. Seriously. _Dangerous magical plants._ These aren’t just weeds. I know,” another tight squeeze, “I know you need to do this. I want you to be able to. But if you got hurt out there… and because of her…” She shakes the thought away. “I know you need to do this,” she says again. “But I need _you_ , okay?”

Catra nods again, heart in her throat. The only answer she can form is to take Glimmer’s face in her hands and gently kiss her.

“Okay,” she whispers when they part. “Who’s gonna help me, then.”

Glimmer’s blush quickly recedes. “Um,” she says a little awkwardly. “I was thinking… my dad.”

“Your…” Catra coughs in surprise. “The king. King Micah.”

“Yeah. He knows all about magical botany. _And_ defusing dark magic.”

Catra supposes he would. She doesn’t really know King Micah except to say hello the few times a week they see each other in passing. He’s never been anything but civil to her, but they haven’t exchanged more than small talk since Horde Prime’s defeat. She’s more than aware of his prodigious magical ability, though, and if anyone besides her best friends can keep her safe from the remains of Shadow Weaver’s sick little hobby, it’s probably him.

But as Catra nods her assent, something else occurs to her.

“Uh… Glimmer… does your dad know about…” She jerks her head towards Adora, who’s demonstrating some wild sword-swinging technique for Bow on the other side of the table, “…us? Like, _us_ -us?”

A pink flush comes back to Glimmer’s cheeks. She winces a little. “Y-yes?”

That… isn’t the answer Catra was expecting at all. Not that she’s an expert on parent-child relationships, or the way romances are discussed amongst Etherian civilians—or, for that matter, on being in love with someone who’s not a fellow orphan—but it doesn’t seem unreasonable to her that a loving father might want something different for his only daughter than…

…well, than Catra.

“And he’s…?” Catra’s not even sure what she’s trying to ask. It’s been days since their “girls’ night.” If Micah really objected, Catra could easily have woken up vaporized by now. She’s definitely exchanged greetings with him since then—he hadn’t been staring her down with laser eyes or anything.

 _Maybe_ , she thinks to herself—it kind of sounds like Melog’s voice, but Melog is under the breakfast table, having fallen asleep waiting for bacon scraps— _everything’s okay. Just like it’s been every other step of the way._ Positive track record or not, it feels like a risky thought to entertain.

Glimmer gives her a reassuring smile. “He’s happy for me. You two might be a little awkward together at first, but it’ll be fine. Really.”

 _And do you trust Glimmer?_ This time it’s Perfuma’s voice, and her uncanny ability to call Catra out with devastating precision even when she’s not in the room. Catra sighs and nods, both answering her own internal question and accepting Glimmer’s offer. Glimmer’s smile gets even wider, and she gives Catra a sweet kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Okay. Great. I’ll even ask him for you.”

* * *

It’s not exactly a beautiful day in Bright Moon. The sky is completely overcast, a mottled pearly grey from horizon to horizon. A cool dampness in the air promises, but hasn’t quite delivered, rain, and the temperature plummets further every time the wind picks up—which is frequently. Everyone with an ounce of sense is indoors with a fire blazing in the hearth, a cozy blanket wrapped around their lap, and a hot mug of tea or cider.

In other words, it’s perfect for Catra’s purposes. Between the temperature, the cloud cover, and the wind, she can work as hard as she wants without overheating. Doing all this under the blazing sun would have sucked.

The chief groundskeeper, grateful to knock anything off her to-do list without doing it herself, had indeed set Catra up with everything she needed. A stocky middle-aged woman with scruffy silver hair and dark turquoise skin, Euthalia had provided Catra both the tools to clear all kinds of vegetation and the gear to do so safely—plus a wheelbarrow to transport it all.

Most notably, she’d given Catra a pair of protective gloves that reached past her elbows, thick enough to stop anything short of a deliberate puncture, and if Catra looked closely, she could see golden runes of protection swimming across the surface of the scuffed black canvas, providing extra layers of defence against poisons, toxins—and worse.

Catra’s eager to start tackling some of the nastier magical plants already, but Micah hasn’t arrived yet, and she doesn’t want him telling Glimmer he caught her being reckless, so instead she sets her sights on an incongruous bed of harmless daisies. Shadow Weaver probably planted them as a joke, Catra thinks. Not a _funny_ joke, but that was Shadow Weaver’s sense of humour for you.

She selects one of the shovels Euthalia gave her and starts methodically turning the daisies under the earth. Part of her wants to do it savagely, viciously, violently, wants to channel all her anger and hatred and fear into _destroying_ these stupid bullshit flowers—but there’s a lot to get done, and if she starts at that level of energy, she’s going to exhaust herself in no time.

Even at a measured, deliberate pace, the daisies are still immensely satisfying to ruin.

She’s almost finished with them when she hears someone approaching through the underbrush. A strong breeze gusts from the same direction, and Catra picks up King Micah’s scent on the wind. Which is good, because when he actually arrives a moment later, Catra barely recognizes him. She’s never seen him look less regal: the colourful silk robes have been replaced by denims and a button-up work shirt, he’s not wearing any of his usual makeup or jewelry, and his lustrous black and silver hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. He’s carrying a beaten-up duffle bag over one shoulder, and he waves to her with his free hand.

“Catra!” he says. “Sorry I’m late. I wasn’t sure what Euthalia was going to give you, so I scrounged up a few extra tools.” He lifts the duffle bag by way of demonstration, then sets it on the ground and looks around the clearing, his expression unreadable. “So this was Shadow Weaver’s garden, huh.”

“Y-yeah,” Catra answers.

“Hard to believe we just let her…” He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway. Glimmer told me you wanted to tear it all out.” Catra nods. “Can’t argue with that. Do you have another pair of those gloves?” He points at the ones she’s wearing, and she points towards the wheelbarrow in response, where another pair is draped over a set of shears. “Perfect.”

Micah dons the gloves and looks thoughtfully between Catra’s inventory of tools and the dark, tangled vegetation. “Anywhere in particular you want to start?”

Catra shrugs. “Not really. Glimmer said you’d know what all these,” she gestures vaguely at the uncanny vines and off-colour blossoms, “what they are, what to do about them. I think…” She wishes she could do this alone, the way she’d originally envisioned, but this is better than not being able to do it at all. “I think maybe you tell me what to take care of, and how, and—and I’ll take care of it?”

The king nods, then laughs. “You’ll embarrass me if you do _all_ the manual labour, but sure. Let’s start over here. This is called shining asphodel—watch out for the tips, see the mercury? Now, grab that cultivator while I cast the spell to paralyze its root system…”

He might be awkward, Catra decides as they work, but not like, small-talk-with-Hordak awkward. He’s cheerful and friendly, and seems to actually enjoy teaching her little facts about magical botany. Catra’s not going to make a new hobby of it or anything, but she realizes she doesn’t mind learning, either.

She also appreciates that he seems fine with doing most of the talking. She asks questions when she needs to, and answers questions if he asks, but otherwise she just works, and listens.

Catra was expecting this process to be more cathartic—destroying Shadow Weaver’s garden to clear some of the metaphorical deadfall out of her heart, or whatever—but it’s hard to process those feelings when she needs to concentrate on Micah’s instructions, suggestions, and warnings. _Or maybe that’s for the best,_ she considers. _Work now, process later. Less chance of bawling in front of Glimmer’s dad that way._

It takes about an hour to neutralize and dig up all the asphodel. They have to put on breathing masks before the roots are exposed, and even with their protective gloves on, they transfer the uprooted plants as gingerly as possible into the enchanted disposal bags Micah brought.

Finally, he seals the last bag with a spell and takes his mask off for a deep breath of fresh air. Catra does the same with hers. She hates wearing it, but since Micah had briefly explained the consequences of inhaling mercury vapour, it’s clearly the lesser of two evils.

“Nice work,” he says as she hands him her mask. He stows it with his in the duffel bag, from which he then produces two bottles of water. He tosses her one.

“Th-thanks, your, uh. Your Highness. Your Majesty?”

Caught in the middle of a long gulp of water, he waves his free hand “no” at her. “Just Micah,” he says when he finishes. “Please. ‘King Micah’ if you absolutely must.”

“Uh…” Admittedly, Catra doesn’t have much experience with royalty—besides Glimmer, of course, and that relationship is about as informal as it gets—but using his given name seems… overly familiar. “Are you sure?”

He gives her a reassuring smile. It doesn’t reassure her much. “Look,” he says, “I don’t want to—I know we don’t know each other very well yet, and I hope I’m not crossing any lines here, but—well. Glimmer’s told me about you and her and Adora.”

Catra immediately breaks eye contact with him, her gaze snapping to a point in the middle distance.

“I’m happy for her,” Micah emphasizes. “And for Adora. I’m happy for all of you. Glimmer—she loves you both very much. And Bow, too. I’ll be honest, I didn’t exactly see this coming, but—as a parent, to see your child receiving so much love and support, to see her surrounded by people who care about her, who protect her, and want her to succeed…” He trails off into silence for a moment, then smiles and shrugs. “It’s a blessing,” he finishes simply.

Catra sips her water and thinks. No one’s ever called her a “blessing” before.

They rest for a few minutes in a silence Catra’s surprised to find companionable, Micah touching his toes a few times to stretch out his back. “Why don’t you decide what we deal with next,” he says to Catra.

She looks around, but the earthy gaps left by the daisies and the asphodel haven’t diminished the garden’s unsettling presence at all. There’s still so much left. She shrugs helplessly.

“Okay,” Micah says, and something in the tone of his voice makes him sound just like Glimmer for a second. “Is there one that particularly makes you think of _her_?”

Catra doesn’t need to ask who. First she thinks, _None of your damn business, buddy,_ but then she forces herself to sit with it for few moments. It’s not the _worst_ way to pick the next one, she has to admit. So she looks around again.

There’s an obvious candidate right in front of her: a shrub with irregular leaves the colour of gunmetal and gnarled blood-red branches that crook at angles her eye doesn’t seem to want to accept. She scowls at it and points.

“Ha,” Micah says when he sees it, but it’s not actual laughter. “Perfect.”

There’s a bitter edge in his voice, and the way the branches fork hurts her head, and it all stirs a memory in the back of Catra’s mind—not quite a memory _of_ Shadow Weaver, a memory of other people—talking to Shadow Weaver? _About_ Shadow Weaver? Had someone been… yelling at Shadow Weaver?

Pieces start clicking together. Mystacor. The failsafe mission. Glimmer’s weird aunt—right, that’s Micah’s sister—or maybe Glimmer herself… or maybe they’d each said half of something important…

Oh. Whoa. “Uh, your—I mean, King—I mean, um, Micah?” He turns to look at her. “D-did you know Shadow Weaver too?”

Micah looks a little surprised. “You didn’t know?” Catra shakes her head. People assume Adora tells her everything. That’s almost true: Adora tells her everything Adora _remembers_ to tell her. This little piece of trivia must have slipped through the cracks.

“Yes,” he says. “A long time ago. Before I was king, before she was Shadow Weaver, her name was Light Spinner, and she was my teacher. My mentor.”

The memory Catra was searching for comes rushing back. The argument in the failsafe chamber, when she’d accused Shadow Weaver of trying to sacrifice Adora. Catra had barely been paying attention to anyone else, but someone had definitely shouted this piece of information in her presence, and her subconscious had saved it for later.

“Oh,” is all Catra can think of to say. But then she can’t help asking, “So… she wasn’t evil back then?”

He sighs. “She was always… amoral. Ruthless. Hungry for power. It hadn’t corrupted her quite so thoroughly at first, but it was only a matter of time before—well, she enlisted me in a very dark, very risky ritual, which went catastrophically wrong, and the next thing we all knew, Light Spinner was calling herself Shadow Weaver and working for the Horde.”

Catra just blinks. Everything Shadow Weaver had done to her and Adora had been so intimately personal. It’s almost a little strange to hear about her hurting and betraying other people too. And stranger still to think that her reign of terror started before Adora and Catra were even born.

 _You were a piece of shit to everyone you ever met, weren’t you,_ Catra thinks. Out loud, she says, “I didn’t know that. Most of that, anyway.” Micah nods. “I thought… I mean, I didn’t realize… I guess ripping all this up probably feels pretty good for you, too,” she finishes tentatively.

He looks at the dark, crooked shrub again, and it’s a moment before he nods. “I think it will. You ready to tackle this thing?”

Catra regards him skeptically from the corner of her eye. “Do I actually have to tackle it?”

This time his laugh is genuine. “No, but get those gloves back on. This is a bloody balsam. _Commiphora sanguinensis_. I think the First Ones called it ‘dreadbalm.’ The leaves have some alchemical properties, but the resin is the really nasty stuff. One drop’ll blind you, two drops for total paralysis, three drops and your heart muscle forgets how to contract. We definitely can’t burn this; the smoke would kill everyone in Bright Moon.”

“Yikes,” says Catra. “Okay. Don’t burn the bloody balsam. I’ll remember that one. What _do_ we do with it?”

He hands her a shovel. “We dig it up very carefully. Then I’ll cast a spell to—well, it gets kind of technical, but it inverts the properties of the sap…”

Magical botany? Kind of interesting. Magical biochemistry? Not as much. Catra doesn’t really follow his explanation, but the more she listens to his voice, the more little ways she can hear he sounds like Glimmer, and that’s… well. That’s nice.

She avoids nicking the balsam with the shovel until it slips just after they’ve removed it from the ground, and what emerges is the exact colour, opacity, and sheen of mammal blood. Micah has something in his bag to wrap around the split bark, but Catra catches a whiff of the sap and ends up coughing so hard she halfway blacks out, almost all of her body weight supported by one of Micah’s arms looped under hers.

Being suddenly this close to a new person—especially a male person—would normally be a major problem for Catra, but right now her biggest problem is the violent spasms racking her lungs. The rotten-citrus smell of the resin feels like it’s coating the inside of her skull, cloying and rancid and caustic, and as her vision starts to tunnel and she feels one of her stomach muscles tear, she thinks, _If I die, Adora’s gonna be so mad at me…_

But Micah drags her away from the bleeding balsam and holds her up while the coughing subsides and she slowly starts to feel like she’s getting enough oxygen again. Once she’s steady, he helps her sit down on the grass and goes to bind the wound on the bark. When he gets back, she’s almost breathing normally, but the dire aromatics are still clinging to her sinuses.

“Catra! Are you all right?” Micah asks, crouching down in front of her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—of course your sense of smell is more acute. We should have been using the masks.”

Catra waves off his apology and gestures to the centre of her face, trying not to vomit. “The _smell_. Micah, I still—” She gags and turns her head away from him quickly, just in case, but nothing comes up.

“Oh gods,” he says, “okay, okay,” and he sounds more like Glimmer than ever. But Catra’s so miserable and scared right now it only makes her miss the actual Glimmer.

“I’m going to use some magic up near your face, is that all right?” he asks her quickly. “There will be a bright flash, and you’ll feel a bit light-headed for a moment, but it won’t hurt and the smell will go away.”

“ _Do it,_ ” Catra begs, then turns her head away to retch again, then turns back. “Please.”

Micah sketches a quick hexagram of runes in the air and then snaps his fingers in the middle of it. Catra closes her eyes against the flash and feels an uncomfortable _whoosh_ pass through her skull, but the vile smell of the blood resin is finally gone.

She lets out a single sob of relief and pitches forward; Micah sticks his hands out to catch her, but she doesn’t fall quite far enough to need it.

Catra takes an extremely hesitant breath. She aches from her jaw to her groin, but her lungs are clear and the fresh air is the sweetest she’s ever breathed.

“That might be enough gardening for today,” she rasps.

Micah pats her gently on the shoulder. “Good call. Sit here a minute, I’ll finish this thing off.”

The spell he uses, as far as Catra understands it, transmutes the sap so it becomes non-toxic but somehow destructive to the plant itself. There seems to be less of a visual element than the spell he’d used to clear her head—he simply stands over the eerie angles of the uprooted shrub and makes a few elaborate hand gestures, and the whole thing sort of fizzes away into mulch. He uses a shovel to scrape the leavings together, now safely inert, and mixes them into the earth.

“I really am so sorry,” Micah says again as he stacks the tools back in the wheelbarrow and secures a weatherproof cover over it until next time. “That was a stupid mistake. You could have been really hurt.”

Catra’s voice is so scratchy it sounds like it’s coming in over a bad radio connection. “It’s fine. Really. You warned me how bad that stuff was. Shouldn’t have sniffed it.”

“Well,” he says, “I’m just glad I don’t have to tell Glimmer I accidentally killed her new girlfriend.”

Catra looks at him sharply, a little shocked to hear it said so casually, and sees the same dopey grin Glimmer gets when _she_ provokes a reaction out of someone. Someone who is usually, in fact, Catra.

 _Oh no,_ she thinks. _Now I’ve got two of them._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutouts to aidyr and Wolfsbane101 for helping me notice the hurt/comfort epilogue missing from this story. And shoutout to my complete lack of self-control for turning a “quick epilogue” into… this.

In a rare but welcome alignment of schedules, the Best Friends Squad gets to eat dinner together today, too, not just breakfast.

Bow’s already in the dining room when Catra arrives, poking away at something on his digital pad. When he hears her come in, he sets it aside to greet her with a big smile, but that quickly shrinks once he gets a good look at her.

“Catra!” he cries, jumping to his feet and coming around the table. “Are you okay? What happened?”

There are dark circles under Catra’s eyes and her cheeks look hollowed out; her shoulders are slumped and she’s walking like she’s on eggshells. But she has the audacity to try to wave him off. “I’m fine,” she wheezes, trying to make a casual gesture with her hand but only managing a feeble swipe at the air.

“Catra,” Bow says in a suddenly lowered voice. “Come sit down. What do you want to drink?”

She lets him lead her to a chair at the table. She doesn’t even seem to have the strength to protest. “Tea?” she asks, her voice sounding so raw it makes Bow’s own throat twinge in sympathy. “With honey? And splash some whiskey in there.”

Bow raises his eyebrows, but all he says is, “You got it,” clasping her hands briefly before heading over to a small beverage cart and the wet bar. Soon she has a large, steaming mug between her hands, and she holds her face over it and breathes deeply before taking a careful sip.

“This is perfect,” she rasps. “Thanks, Bow.”

“No problem,” he says, squeezing her shoulder. “The only reason I’m not asking what happened it because it sounds like it hurts for you to talk.”

Catra nods and blows across the surface of her tea for a moment before taking another sip. “When they get here,” she says, and between her and Bow there’s only one _they_ she could mean. “Only have to explain once.”

Bow nods. “For sure,” he says warmly, and takes the seat next to her, picking his pad back up and tapping away. Catra drinks some more tea.

“You know,” Bow says, his tone conversational, with an edge of emotion in his voice Catra wouldn’t have picked up on a month ago. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

Catra doesn’t need to speak to convey an eloquent _WTF?_ Any other time, the expression on her face would have sent Bow into hysterical laughter, but he seems distracted by what he’s about to say and barely cracks a smile.

“You saved Glimmer,” he says, and the way he closes off the last syllable in his throat suggests he might say more, if he could.

Catra shrugs awkwardly and stares into her tea. “Saved a lot of people,” she demurs. For some reason it’s easier to deflect the small, specific praise with a larger, more general boast.

That gets a little chuckle out of Bow. “Yeah,” he admits, “but I’m being selfish right now. You saved _Glimmer_. You got her off Horde Prime’s ship and sent her—sent her straight into my arms. I… don’t think I have to tell you what would’ve—how I’d have—I mean, if she—”

Catra’s the one to reach out this time, her palm surprisingly hot on his wrist from the mug she’s been holding. She nods at him, not trusting her voice for several reasons at the moment, and squeezes silently: _I do understand. She’s important to me too. We’re going to keep her safe, together._

He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “Anyway. Just wanted to say… thanks, Catra.”

Catra just nods again.

Bow sniffles a little, then laughs a reassuringly regular-sized big Bow laugh. “Hey, one more thing—after the other night, after you and Adora and Glimmer…” Catra eyes him warily, but he’s just grinning his dumb face off. “She’s _so_ happy things worked out with you three. She’s been walking on air. It’s…” He sighs and goes all dreamy-eyed. “It’s really great to see. So I’m grateful for that too.” He gives her the softest punch in the arm she’s ever received in her life.

The tips of Catra’s ears feel as hot as the tea in her cup. She takes another fortifying sip, coating her ragged throat enough to get at least a couple of sentences out. Bow deserves that much. She can’t say it and make eye contact with him at the same time, but it’s Bow—he’ll understand.

“I get why there’s that giant-ass heart on all your shirts,” she grinds out, the physical difficulty of speaking for once even worse than the emotional. “That’s just… that’s just life-size, huh.”

Catra hears Bow’s little gasp of joy and braces for a tsunami of feelings from him, if not a sudden, bone-crushing embrace, but when nothing seems forthcoming, she peeks at him from the corner of her eye. He’s gripping his own hands just like Perfuma does when she’s trying not to happy-flap them around Catra. His eyes are huge and glistening with tears, and he’s smiling from ear to ear.

He seems to pick up on her confusion. “Glimmer said I should work on giving you more space. She says you process your feelings easier without a ton of extra, uh, emotional bandwidth. Which I am definitely known for bringing to situations.” He holds up his tightly interlocked hands in demonstration. “So. How am I doing?”

It’s such a loving gesture on both Glimmer and Bow’s parts that it almost backfires, just the thought of the two of them in a private moment, discussing what they can do to make her life, Catra’s life, easier—just because they want to, just because they can—nearly overwhelming Catra all by itself. Thinking of Perfuma, she takes a long, slow breath through her nose, ignoring the stabs of pain all through her core, and imagines the door to her heart like one of the emergency exits she and Adora used to use to climb up to the rooftops of the Fright Zone.

In her imagination—just like they’d done in real life—she steals a shoe from Kyle’s locker and jams that door wide open.

“Just please don’t cry,” she whispers as she clumsily yanks him in for a hug.

Is this really the first time she’s ever hugged a man one-on-one? Catra realizes it must be. There’s a disappointing absence of breasts, and the overall _maleness_ of his scent is disorienting up close, but his arm muscles are almost Adora-caliber, so it’s not all bad. Catra must be even more exhausted than she thought: she decides Bow could definitely use a nice soft pair of tits, just as a pillow, but otherwise this is actually pretty comfy.

When the dining room door opens and Glimmer and Adora come in, Catra realizes she’s about 80% dozed off on Bow’s shoulder. Before she can scramble back to a dignified position, she’s busted: Adora’s sudden “Awwww!” runs up like two-and-a-half octaves.

Glimmer initially reacts like she’s found a secret stash of Solstice gifts, mouth wide open in a shocked grin, but when Catra lifts her head, Glimmer sees how rough she actually looks. “Look at you two—oh _Catra_ , are you okay? Oh my gods.” She rushes to Catra’s side, Adora right behind. “Dad said you had an accident in the garden, but he said you were okay! You don’t _look_ okay! What happened?”

Bow rubs Catra’s arm supportively. She coughs and instantly cringes with pain; Adora and Glimmer simultaneously reach out for her, then simultaneously stop themselves, reluctant to crowd her even as they worry.

Catra nods, but it’s more like jerking her head up and down. “Yeah. Breathed in some… weird fucking sap. Almost coughed myself inside out. King—your d—Micah… saved me. S-still hurts, though.”

Adora looks like she’s running through six hours’ worth of worry in 30 seconds. Glimmer looks faint for a moment, then furious—“fucking Shadow Weaver,” Catra hears her mutter—then flails her hands like she doesn’t know where to put them. Catra takes pity on her and reaches out for one of Glimmer’s hands, and one of Adora’s. After a second, she leans her knee against the side of Bow’s so he’s part of the circuit too.

“I’m fine,” she croaks earnestly. “I’ll _be_ fine. Shadow Weaver’s done worse to me. And I’m still here, and she’s still dead, so. Call that a win.”

To her surprise, Bow is the one who responds with an understanding nod, though he leans his knee gently into hers too. Judging by their nearly identical frowns, Adora and Glimmer are less convinced.

Catra sighs. That hurts to do too. “If I’m still having trouble breathing tomorrow, Micah will call a healer. I just need sleep.”

And now she’s lost Bow, apparently. His nod immediately switches axis to a stern shake of the head, and he turns to share Adora and Glimmer’s grave look of concern. “You’re having trouble _breathing_?” he repeats, looking back at her. Catra remembers Bow has two dads at home. That explains the double-dad face he’s giving her right now.

She shrugs and looks away. “Not a _lot_. It just… hurts. Throat and muscles and… lungs.”

Bow and Adora both look sympathetic, but Glimmer looks pissed.

“I’m sure you mentioned this to my dad, _right_ , Catra? That it hurts to _breathe_? In your _lungs_?”

“I… uh… not… exactly? Was gonna tell him tomorrow. If it still…”

Adora actually puts a hand on Glimmer’s shoulder like she thinks Glimmer might take a swing at Catra over this. Catra appreciates it—she’s not entirely sure Glimmer won’t. Especially when she twists Adora’s hand off of her entirely.

“I _knew_ this was a bad idea,” Glimmer spits, and Catra’s stomach almost plummets straight to hell before she continues, “I never should have let you anywhere _near_ that garden.” She’s not talking about _them_ , Catra realizes, she’s just talking about today. _And she’s mad because she cares about my safety._ She swallows, this time savouring the pain a little. It’s the least she deserves.

“I don’t know who’s a bigger idiot, you or me—” Glimmer says, and then Bow very gently cuts her off.

“Glimmer,” he says softly, and it defuses her temper like only Bow can. Adora’s hand carefully returns to Glimmer’s shoulder, and this time Glimmer doesn’t push it away. When she looks back at Catra, her scowl has melted into something like despair, and her voice is thick with tears.

“For fuck’s _sake_ , Catra,” she begins, and it sounds like her heart is breaking. “We _need_ you. All of us do.” Adora and Bow nod solemnly. “We _love_ you. We all love you. We all desperately, desperately want you to be safe.” A single sob wrenches itself free from Glimmer’s chest, but she visibly wrestles her feelings under control and continues.

“Sometimes it feels like _you_ don’t care if you’re safe or not. And that’s—that’s really hard for us to watch, Catra. It fucking _hurts_ us.” As though hearing that wasn’t hard enough, Catra sees Adora and Bow nod in unison again.

The guilt feels a million times worse than her torn abdominal muscles. Nothing she can think of to say feels valuable enough to be worth the effort of speaking. Her throat hurts so badly she doesn’t dare start crying.

“I’m sorry,” she finally manages. Her voice sounds like a recording buried in static. “It was an accident. But… you’re not wrong. I’m not… careful. I should be. I get that it hurts you. Hurts you all. I—I love you all. And I’m sorry.” She finishes the last of her tea and looks down into the empty mug.

Then she feels Bow ruffle her hair. “Refill?” he asks kindly. She weakly tries to match his smile and relinquishes the cup, feeling at a complete loss.

As he heads for the teapot, Glimmer sits in the chair where he’d been and holds out her hands. Catra grasps them at once. “I’m sorry,” Glimmer says sadly. “I’m sorry I got mad. I was so scared for you. It was easier to act mad than act scared.” She presses a fervent kiss to the fur on the back of Catra’s hand. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m not mad anymore.”

Adora puts her hand over theirs. “None of us are mad at you, Catra,” she says. “You just scared us.”

Catra nods, trying to let the love radiating towards her from all three of them drown out the guilt and shame in her heart.

Bow comes back with Catra’s mug, full and steaming again. “Tea and honey and a splash o’ whiskey,” he says, passing Catra the drink, dropping a kiss on top of Glimmer’s head, and giving Adora a friendly hip-check as he passes.

Glimmer huffs a little laugh out her nose. “There’s a whole bottle in the wet bar,” Catra shrugs defensively, raising the mug to Bow in thanks and taking a sip. “It’s medicinal.” It actually is helping the inside of Catra’s throat feel less torn up, but it’s not doing much for the rest of her aches and pains. Bow would probably have to swap the ratios to make a difference there, Catra thinks, but for some reason the idea of a mug of whiskey with a splash of tea in it doesn’t have quite the same appeal.

A long, silent, not quite awkward moment passes in which nobody seems to know what to say. Then Glimmer stands up decisively.

“Let’s eat dinner,” she says. “As long as you’re okay to eat, Catra. And then we’re not waiting until tomorrow to call a healer.” Everyone looks at her with a slightly different quizzical expression, and the queen simply shrugs.

“I know a little restorative magic,” she says, “and so does Adora, obviously. We’ve both healed worse than this.” Adora nods and clasps Glimmer’s shoulders from behind as she continues. “I’m willing to bet if you spend tonight cuddled up with us, you’ll be right as rain by the morning.”

Glimmer glances at Bow for his input. He’s looking on proudly, and adds a thumbs-up for emphasis. “Entrapta and I were planning a late night tonight, hacking on some of Darla’s systems,” he says. “I probably won’t even make it to bed before sunrise.” Catra can practically see computer code scrolling happily across his eyeballs. What a nerd, she thinks, heart full to the very top.

Now Glimmer’s looking at Catra, apparently waiting. _She’s giving me a choice,_ Catra realizes. _I don’t—I don’t have to do this. She’s not ordering me, she’s not going to make me, she’s just… offering._

If she’s being honest with herself, Catra would have let Glimmer and Adora force healing magic on her with barely a second thought. She’d been careless with her own safety and her friends’ feelings, she’d hurt them and herself—she feels like she’s forfeited the right to decide what happens to her next. But as she thinks about it, that’s not… she shouldn’t do that, right? Not even with them.

 _Healthy boundaries are healthy for everyone,_ Perfuma had told her once, _on both sides of the boundary._

Catra thinks about the difference between abnegating her own agency to her girlfriends, versus accepting the agency they’re offering her. One feels like the devil she knows, simple and deceptively comfortable, but oozing like bloody balsam with toxins just under the surface. The other makes her feel like a video Bow showed her once of people joyfully cliff-diving into a glittering cyan ocean.

“That… would be perfect,” Catra says. It still hurts to speak, and dinner won’t be easy to get down, but when she wakes up tomorrow in Glimmer and Adora’s arms, she’ll be one step closer to okay. Bow catches her eye and, based on the smile and the nod he gives her, she thinks he can tell what she’s thinking, and she’s pretty sure he agrees.


End file.
